


Another Mile Along the Road

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-30
Updated: 2008-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://wynterhawk.livejournal.com/"><b>wynterhawk</b></a> who selected 'Drive' and VigBean from the prompt list. This is where it went so I hope you like it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Another Mile Along the Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wynterhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wynterhawk).



> Written for [**wynterhawk**](http://wynterhawk.livejournal.com/) who selected 'Drive' and VigBean from the prompt list. This is where it went so I hope you like it.

One week between commitments, just seven days carved out of crowded schedules, and it took more than a month to plan. Sean wanted quiet times at home, the two of them squirreled away from the rest of the world. Lazy mornings and sprawling afternoons and plenty of time for rediscovering each other. But mostly he just wanted to be with Viggo.

So in the end they met in LA and headed out in Viggo's '48 pickup, a teardrop trailer* in tow, going wherever the road and whim led them. Sterile blocks of concrete and stone, irritated horns and sirens and the sun glaring off glass and mirror did nothing to relieve over-stimulated senses. But soon the agitation gave way to the natural calm inside the cab, the space surrounding them gradually filtering out the external din.

Finally free of anything resembling a suburban landscape, the easy silence gave way to quiet conversations, raucous debates and the occasional spontaneous burst of song. Being on their own, alone together, had been almost an instinctive habit from the beginning, an elemental connection that grew organically from friendship to love. It made bridging the distance time and geography put between them easier to manage but neither took that for granted. Through words and actions, each day they took deliberate and purposeful steps toward each other even when countries separated them or anger built up walls.

Soon rumbling stomachs threatened otherwise sunny skies and Viggo pulled into the lot of an old roadside food stand, customers long ago abandoned for weeds and broken asphalt. They parked along the back, halfway hidden from the road, and climbed out into the pine-laden air. Viggo stretched, acutely feeling every bone and muscle. Cigarette smoke filtered from behind the trailer and he smiled, following it to Sean who was bent over struggling with the hatch. A quick swat on the butt and he pushed Sean out of the way, opened the trailer and quickly set up the galley. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Sean watching him, feeling his remaining stress uncoil and drift away, replaced with warmth and serenity.

Sean moved closer and knelt down to get supplies out of the cooler, brushing against Viggo as he finished hooking up the propane for the stove. Exaggerated movements prolonged the contact, both slowing down to draw out the dance, enjoying the gradual return of physical intimacy they had been denied for too long. They shared the space and another cigarette while Sean made his 'famous' bacon butties and Viggo cobbled together some make-shift sticky buns** without any sticks, filling the roughly hollowed pastry with jam. When everything was ready they sat at one of the derelict picnic benches that still dotted the area, ankles and calves barely touching beneath the table. By the time they had finished, Viggo's boots were off, his legs laid casually across Sean's thighs.

They set off again just before two, Sean behind the wheel and Viggo playing navigator, having a vague idea of a camping area several miles away but not remembering its exact location. Several false starts, reversals and one dead end later, Sean finally pulled into a gas station and got directions while Viggo filled the tank. Now heading the right way, Viggo began to doze. Sleep did not quite erase the lines of worry from Viggo's brow, and Sean laid his hand on top of Viggo's, smiled at the small sound of pleasure at his touch. He promised to make more time for moments like this, to convince Viggo it was time for both of them to stop working so hard.

The late afternoon sun ended Viggo's nap, a strobe light across his face as it flashed between the trees. While asleep he had moved toward Sean; now he closed the remaining gap between them, his hand moving slowly up and down Sean's thigh. When they arrived at the park, they took their time and found a secluded area away from prying eyes soon managing to set up camp. Sean had deferred to Viggo's knowledge of the area and love of camping, but when he saw fishing rods leaning against the back of the trailer he decided to take control.

When he first saw what Viggo had in mind for a "caravan," Sean had been sure they'd end up in sleeping bags on the ground, not believing two grown men could fit inside. And while his back groaned at the thought, he let his love for Viggo push any misgivings away. Now his need far outweighed any lingering skepticism and fishing was definitely not going to be part of the agenda.

As Viggo stooped to drop his last load of firewood, Sean quickly moved behind him, the heat from his body seeping through the layers of clothes, sending shivers up Viggo's spine. They stood barely touching until Viggo turned, eyes now dark with desire. He backed carefully toward the trailer, being directed both by Sean's focused stare and his determined hands. Slumping down to sit on the edge of the mattress just inside the cabin door, he let himself be pushed and maneuvered into the cabin, Sean crawling on top of him.

After weeks apart they soothed pent-up passion through languid kisses, gently roaming hands shedding the constraints and trappings of their lives. They drew out their pleasure, moving together in a rhythm all their own. After slaking immediate thirst, they simply held each other, letting the slow-burning ache build once more, a visceral response to a hard-fought connection unmistakable in its strength.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> * The teardrop trailer I decided Viggo owned is [**here**](http://www.socalteardrops.com/409.html); not top of the line; something he could possibly have made or salvaged and fixed up.
> 
> ** Not surprisingly, what we called sticky buns at camp aren't called that anywhere else. Camp sticky buns: we'd find thicker sticks on the ground, whittle off the bark at one end, glomp some dough around the cleaned end, hold it in the fire until it was cooked through, pull it off the stick and dump butter or jam or honey inside and eat it. The best campfire dessert ever. I have no idea what the dry ingredients were (except I know it was made with whole wheat flour because everything at camp was made with wheat and the dough was definitely not white) but I found something that's described in a similar fashion and it's origins are apparently Native American, which would fit with what camp was about when I was there. It's called [**bannock**](http://eartheasy.com/play_campfire_cooking.htm#c) and while I don't think it's exactly what we used to make it sounds pretty close.


End file.
